The Rescued

by Marta Perry

  Nate, surprised, nodded.

  “All right then.” He breathed a little easier. “All we can do now is be here to help Mammi and to do whatever we can for her.”

  “That’s what I want,” Nate said quickly. “I want to help Mammi, but Rachel says we have to go to school.”

  Adam considered how to respond. Being a parent was harder than it looked, it seemed.

  “We can help her best by doing what she wants, not what we want,” he said. “Mammi wants you to go to school. When you do as she says, you are helping her because she doesn’t have to worry so much about you. See?”

  Toby nodded immediately. Nate took his time, his lower lip protruding, but finally he nodded as well.

  “Gut.” Adam rose, patting their shoulders. “Let’s go and have breakfast, so Mammi won’t worry that you’re not eating.” He shepherded them into the kitchen.

  Anna seemed to have calmed down. She eyed her brother with a tad of resentment but then went happily back to her oatmeal until she was distracted by the arrival of her grandmother and her aunt.

  Under cover of the chatter, Adam made his way around to the stove, where Rachel seemed to be intent upon stirring the oatmeal.

  “Some of that for me?” he asked.

  She jerked, the spoon in her hand hitting the side of the pan. Her eyes were wide and frightened in her pale face. “I . . . I’ll dish some up for you.”

  Leaning against the sink, Adam watched her. Rachel was hurting, but what could he say that would make things any better?

  “It’s my fault,” she muttered suddenly, and then glanced toward her mother to be sure Mattie hadn’t heard.

  He paused long enough to assemble his thoughts. He should have realized that conscientious Rachel would find a way to blame herself.

  “How is it your fault?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  “If I hadn’t been ready for ninth grade, Mamm wouldn’t be going through this.” Rachel’s blue eyes challenged him to argue with her.

  “True,” he said. “What could you have done about it?”

  She looked startled, obviously not expecting agreement. “Well, I . . . I . . .” She stopped. Shook her head. And gave him a smile that trembled on the brink of tears. “Nothing, I guess.”

  “Nothing for sure.” He patted her shoulder. “It’s nobody’s fault. It happened this year because the new school was finished and because some people on the school board are unwilling to listen to our beliefs. Not because of you. So don’t let your mamm know you have such ferhoodled ideas.”

  Some of the tension seemed to slip out of her. “I won’t. Denke, Cousin Adam.”

  Nodding, he turned away, stopping at the counter to add a little milk and brown sugar to his oatmeal. When he looked up, he saw that Mattie was watching him. Her expression was somehow different, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

  Before he had a chance to think, his cousin Emma was elbowing him out of the way. “Go and sit down and stop standing there blocking traffic, Adam. I’m going to cut the shoofly pies, if you want any.”

  He grinned, used to his cousin’s bossiness. “How can I resist when you ask me so nicely?”

  She swatted at him with a dish towel, but he evaded it and went to sit next to the boys. He’d no more than sat down before he heard a buggy coming down the lane. Most likely the bishop and the ministers, he supposed.

  Aunt Becky gave Emma a look, and she stopped what she was doing.

  “We should be getting on our way, Anna. Your cousins are so excited to see you they’re probably driving their daadi crazy. Are you ready?”

  The bustle of getting Anna out the door and packed into Emma’s buggy seemed to overcome a slight tendency toward tears on Anna’s part. Adam stowed her suitcase carefully, as if it contained something precious, and Anna smiled at him, pleased that he took her trip so seriously.

  “You have a gut time, now. And be nice to your cousins.” He hugged her.

  “I’m always nice,” she said, looking surprised.

  He looked at Mattie, inviting her to share his amusement, and she managed a smile.

  “Well, see that you stay that way,” Mattie told her, hugging her tightly. “And be a very gut girl for your aunt, okay?”

  Anna’s little face started to pucker as Emma released the brake and the carriage began to move. “I don’t think I want to go away.”

  “No fussing, now,” Mattie said. “It’s not polite to fuss when you are getting such a treat. You’ll have so much fun with your cousins that you won’t want to come home again. I’ll see you soon.”

  Anna brightened a little. With a speaking glance at Mattie, Emma clucked to the horse, no doubt thinking it best to get moving while Anna was momentarily distracted.

  They stepped back, standing together as they watched the buggy roll down the lane. Mattie waved as long as Anna was visible, seeming composed and cheerful. But Adam saw her face when she turned back again, and the pain in it twisted his heart.

  By the time they returned to the kitchen, she had managed to put her smile back on. She handed the boys their lunches.

  “Time for you two to get moving. Grossdaadi says he’ll walk you partway to school, so get your hats.”

  For an instant it looked as if Nate would object. Adam caught his eye. Nate swallowed, his neck moving, and then took his lunch bag. “Good-bye, Mammi.” He hugged her fiercely and then turned away quickly. “Let’s go, Toby.”

  With the departure of the kinder and the arrival of so many black-suited men, the atmosphere of the farmhouse changed subtly. Aunt Becky bustled around, making sure everyone had coffee and a slab of coffee cake or shoofly pie, with Rachel as her quiet helper. It reminded Adam of folks gathered after a funeral, the low voices sometimes interrupted by a chuckle as people forgot for a moment why they were there.

  A vehicle coming down the lane startled everyone into strained silence, but a glance out the window assured Adam it wasn’t the police car. Not yet.

  He turned back, his gaze seeking the bishop. “It’s that minister from the school board. Pastor Colby.”

  “Is it?” Bishop Thomas didn’t sound surprised. He gestured to Adam and Jonah to accompany him, and they went out onto the porch as the minister emerged from his car.

  The minister greeted them, glancing from one face to another. “I hope Mrs. Lapp isn’t too upset this morning.”

  “She’s doing well.” The bishop naturally took over the role of spokesperson. “But the threat of jail is hard for a widow with young children.”

  “It’s unconscionable,” Pastor Colby said emphatically. “I prayed it wouldn’t come to this, but . . .” He shook his head, his youthful face concerned. “Some in authority have hardened their hearts, as the scripture says. I’m not giving up, though.”

  “We, too, have not given up.” Bishop Thomas’s grave dignity contrasted with the other man’s indignation. “But we will take what God sends to us.”

  Colby nodded. “I’ve come to stand with you, if you’ll allow it. Also, I thought my car might be useful to take the family on to the jail and to the hearing.”

  “Denke. That’s sehr kind of you. We’ll be glad of both,” Bishop Thomas said.

  Adam could only chastise himself. Why hadn’t he thought that they would need drivers today, of all days? He should have arranged something. The young minister, unfamiliar though his manner sometimes seemed, was proving to be a good friend to the Leit.

  Another set of wheels crunched on the gravel. “The police.” It took Adam a moment to realize that he had spoken. He glanced toward the house, but obviously they had heard the vehicle as well. After all, it was what they’d all been listening for this morning.

  Mattie moved through the group to stand between him and her father-in-law, with Pastor Colby and the bishop just beyond. The others filed out to stand silently behind them, t
heir faces grave.

  The car stopped at the porch. There were two of them today—the chief of police himself and a young patrolman. They got out of the car and then hesitated, obviously surprised at the number of people who waited there. The patrolman, his young face paling, made a movement with his hand toward the weapon on his hip.

  “Don’t be any more of a fool than you can help,” Chief Ferguson snapped. “That’s Bishop Thomas Beiler and Pastor Colby. Obviously these folks are here to give support, not start a riot.”

  The patrolman, going from pale to flushed, took a step back, his hands dropping to his sides. The chief mounted the steps and stood in front of them to greet by name each person he knew.

  His face grew nearly as solemn as theirs must be. “Seems to me I ought to explain to Mrs. Lapp and everyone else exactly what is going to happen. Since her daughter has not gone to school as ordered, I’ll have to escort Mrs. Lapp to the county jail. When it’s time, we’ll go to the magistrate’s court.” He paused, looking from face to face. “It’s not the main courtroom, you understand. It’s not as formal.”

  Several people nodded. After all, some of them, like Bishop Thomas, had been through this already with those who had been arrested.

  Apparently satisfied that they understood, he went on. “In the magistrate’s hearing, Mrs. Lapp can plead guilty, in which case she agrees to send her daughter to school. She’ll pay a fine and then come home. If she doesn’t plead guilty . . .” He hesitated, and Adam suddenly saw how reluctant he was. “Well, then, it’s up to the magistrate.” He focused on Mattie, who looked very small in the midst of the men surrounding her. “Do you understand, Mrs. Lapp?”

  Her composure held. “I understand.” Her voice was steady. “I’m ready.”

  “Then if you’ll come—”

  “Wait a minute, Chief,” Pastor Colby interrupted. “In view of the fact that Mrs. Lapp is a woman, I think someone should be allowed to accompany her in the police car. The bishop, for instance.”

  Adam held his breath. Certain sure they wouldn’t let him, but if they’d allow the bishop to go . . .

  “That’s against the rules,” the younger officer said.

  The chief gave him an annoyed glance. “I have no problem with Bishop Thomas accompanying Mrs. Lapp as far as the jail, if he wishes.”

  “I do.” The bishop seemed to send a silent thank-you to the minister. “Komm, Mattie.” He touched her arm lightly, and they walked steadily down the steps and to the car. The officer nipped in ahead of them to open the back door.

  Adam kept his gaze pinned to Mattie’s dear face. His heart was breaking, but as long as he could see her, maybe he wouldn’t fly into pieces. The door was closed, and two officers got into the front. When the car pulled away, Adam felt as if a part of him had been severed.

  “I’ll take as many as I can in my car,” Pastor Colby said. “If you want, I have some members of my church standing by who will come and drive anyone to the hearing once we know what time it will be.”

  “Denke.” Onkel Jonah’s voice shook a little, and Adam took hold of his arm in support.

  “My uncle and I would be glad to come with you,” he said. “And I’m sure there are many others who would like a ride to the hearing.”

  “Fine. Let’s go, then. As soon as we reach a phone, I’ll make some calls for drivers to come here to pick people up. In the meantime, I’ll get you to the jail.” He hesitated. “You know they probably won’t let you see her once she’s checked in.”

  Onkel Jonah seemed to have recovered his strength after his momentary lapse. He straightened. “It makes no matter. We will be close by, and Mattie will know we’re there. That’s all we can do now.”

  All we can do for someone we love. Adam had never felt so helpless in his life.

  • • •

  Isaac watched Judith and the buggy disappear from sight down the road toward Rebecca’s place, his insides churning as if the paddle from the milk tank were stirring them up. He made an effort to hang on to his righteous indignation. He had a right to be angry when his own wife sided against him.

  Against that conviction stood an even stronger one: He should never have let those words come out of his mouth. How could he say that Judith was not Joseph’s mother, when she had been just that to the boy for most of his life? Joseph didn’t even remember his own mother.

  Still, it wasn’t right that she and Joseph conspired against him. A wife was supposed to support her husband. Joseph was his responsibility, trusted to him by Mamm and Daad as surely as if the words had been written in stone.

  “See what you did?” Joseph’s hands clenched into fists, and his face was red with anger.

  “What I did?” The boy’s words were a match touched to tinder. “I didn’t do this to Judith. You did. You’re the one who pressured her to help you do wrong.”

  “It’s not wrong!” Joseph flared. “Just because it’s not what you want, that doesn’t make it wrong!”

  “You’re not old enough—”

  “You were my age when you made decisions for the rest of your life. And you’re the one who’s pressed Judith, trying to make her support you.”

  “She’s my wife.” A small voice in his heart was telling him not to talk to the boy that way, but his anger and pain drowned it out.

  “You only married her because you needed someone to be a mother to me!” Joseph threw the words at him like a rock, and, as if it had actually been one, Isaac was struck backward.

  “What are you talking about? Where did you get that crazy idea?”

  “Judith said so.”

  He grasped Joseph by the shoulders. “She didn’t. She couldn’t have. She’d never tell you such a thing.”

  Joseph’s gaze slid away from his. “She said it. Just not to me. But I heard her. She said it to Grossmammi. She said you married her because it was sensible. Because you needed someone to take care of me and you thought she’d be a gut mammi to me.”

  Isaac let go of his brother, trying to dismiss the words. “She can’t believe it.”

  “She does.” Joseph’s voice cracked. “So you can blame that on me, too, just like you blame me for Daad and Mamm dying. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. I’m leaving!”

  Before Isaac could even focus, Joseph turned and bolted, running straight across the field. Recovering himself, Isaac started after him, only to give up before he’d gone twenty feet. The boy was as fast as a hare. He’d never catch him.

  At least he was headed toward Onkel Simon’s. Simon would take care of him.

  Isaac turned away to discover that Levi and Paul were standing a few steps from him, looking at him with wide eyes.

  “What’s wrong with Joseph?” Levi said. “Why is he running like that?”

  “Never mind Joseph. Have you finished with the hens?”

  Levi stiffened at the sharp tone, and Paul inched back, looking frightened.

  What was wrong with him? He was blundering around, hurting the people he loved, and he didn’t even know why.

  “I’m sorry,” Isaac said quickly. He held out his arms to his sons.

  They came to him slowly, as if reluctant to trust his mood, and it was like a knife in his heart. He drew them close.

  “Everything will be all right.” Could he really promise that? “Why don’t you go in to see your aunt? I bet she has a snack for you, ain’t so?”

  Paul nodded and raced toward the house. Levi took a couple of steps and looked back. “Daadi? Aren’t you coming?”

  He tried to smile normally. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I have to finish something in the barn first. You go ahead.”

  Levi nodded, but still he went slowly, as if he wasn’t confident that things were right.

  Isaac spun and headed for the refuge of the barn. There was work to finish. There was always work to finish on a fa
rm.

  Somehow the work got him through the day. He kept Levi and Paul busy, relying on Miriam to handle Noah. Joseph didn’t come back.

  He’s at Onkel Simon’s, he told himself. He’s all right. Maybe Onkel Simon can make him see sense.

  But by early afternoon, the words had lost their power to soothe him. Doubts crept in. Why hadn’t Joseph returned? What was Judith doing? What was she thinking?

  The doubts grew louder and louder until they nearly deafened Isaac. Do something, he told himself. Keep busy.

  Realizing he’d never finished the stall he’d been cleaning when the trouble erupted with Joseph, he headed for the barn. If he kept moving, he wouldn’t have to think.

  But when he reached the stall he could only stare at the shovel that lay where he’d left it. This was what he did. This was how he handled things. He went on to the next job and did it, and sooner or later, things started to go better.

  But somehow he didn’t think it was working this time. He couldn’t ignore what had happened and hope the trouble would disappear. Joseph. Judith. What was he going to do?

  He didn’t know. The emptiness inside him sent him to his knees.

  Isaac wasn’t sure how long he knelt there, struggling to face the truth about himself. About his life. About his love for Judith and his brother.

  A board creaked, and he turned, hoping it was Joseph, hoping he could find the words to heal the trouble between them. But it was Onkel Simon, regarding him gravely.

  “Isaac? Was ist letz?”

  Isaac rose to his feet. “Is Joseph with you?”

  “Joseph?” Simon’s eyes widened. “No. I haven’t seen the boy since we finished the milking this morning. Why?”

  Isaac’s thoughts stumbled over the words. “I thought . . . I thought sure he was coming to you.” All this time, and he didn’t know where Joseph was.

  As always, Onkel Simon seemed to understand more than you thought possible. He put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Tell me what is happening.”

  “It’s Joseph. We quarreled.” Usually Joseph would run to Judith, but Judith wasn’t here. Judith wouldn’t stand between them any longer—that was what she’d said, and Isaac hadn’t even thought about what that would mean. “I thought . . .”